


Love Will Tear Me Apart

by grahamcockroach



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Bisexual Roger Taylor (Queen), F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt, Hurt Roger Taylor (Queen), I hope you like it, I tried though, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pain, Unrequited Love, all my homies know is pain, but hes a straightie john is a straightie, emetophobia tw, fuck titles all my homies hate making titles, im basically projecting on roger sorry, im sorry roger ahahfhroigh, john lives in rogers head rent free, like really loves john, sorry for the terrible title im bad at those BAD, this is really shit lit rally the second fic ive ever posted im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcockroach/pseuds/grahamcockroach
Summary: Roger loves John. John is very much in love with Veronica. Roger's got a bout of a rare sickness correlated with unrequited love, and it doesn't appear to be going away. John's getting married. Roger's not taking it well.somewhat inspired by iamnotbrianmay's drabble am i allowed? i really loved that and the more i thought of that one the more i thought of this idea lasdarighaegho
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Comments: 17
Kudos: 29





	1. alone

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [am i allowed?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409619) by [iamnotbrianmay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotbrianmay/pseuds/iamnotbrianmay). 



The moment Roger learnt of his oblivious beloved’s engagement, he felt as though he’d been hit by a train. Roger knew it was coming, he knew he couldn’t continue clinging onto an impossible hope, the rational part of him knew, but his heart didn’t. The constant reminder of his one-sided adoration with flowers growing in his lungs and making him cough up the wretched petals of heartbreak didn’t help.

“I’m getting married” John said, clearly trying to hide the smile on his face.

Today’s date might as well be on Roger’s tombstone.

Now Freddie and Brian were congratulating John with prideful looks upon their faces. Roger put on a faux one to not seem a terrible friend. Thankfully they all bought it; no use in John finding out now that Roger loved him so.

He knew the now engaged man would eventually marry her, but denial wouldn’t work now. This is real. You’re fucking done. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to tell John how greatly he loved him so maybe he’d call it off and be with him. He wanted to rip his hair out and kick a hole in the wall. He’ll be happy with her. Don’t be selfish. In a way Roger was happy that John was so happy about this, happy John was his favourite thing, but he couldn’t erase how he felt. 

Well at least he’s still your friend, maybe you’ll get to speak at his wedding. Probably not, you’re a shitty friend. He only hangs around you because you’re in the same band and mutual friends. You’re not good enough to be around him.

Having to spend the rest of the day acting as if this wasn’t his state of mind was like being held on the edge of a cliff. He’d loved the brunette since he joined the band in March a couple years ago. Roger loved John more than he’d loved anything before; merely looking at his beautiful figure warmed his heart.

He didn’t know what exactly about John he found so enticing, but he just did. His personality, how when he was really relaxed and in a good mood they’d be laughing all the time, his pouty lip, how soft his hair looked, how kind he was to Roger when he’d have a bad day or a panic attack, and to be honest how much he would tolerate his shit. John was beautiful.

Roger had a tendency to cling onto one person, and that person ended up being John. 

Today they were only working out small details in one of Freddie and Brian’s songs, so he could easily slip into the background and speak when spoken to.

Previously he had planned on asking him out, not overtly so due to the chance John wasn’t into men, but all those plans were shattered when he revealed he was in fact happily in a relationship. 

If you had asked him out, would he still want to be in the band?

If I tell him now it’s really just to try and get rid of this disease thing. Eventually I’m gonna choke on one of those fucking flowers. 

Will he still want to talk to me if he knows?

The announcement of the engagement overwhelmed him. He found the first excuse to leave and took it, only a few hours into working.

“A bit early to be going home for you, are you feeling alright? You’ve been acting off recently,” Brian asked jokingly but at the end with a twinge of sincerity. Roger smirked and nodded. 

“I’m fine, just a bit tired,”’ he responded as he put on his thin late-winter coat and left without another word. 4:57, it was early, too early for any of the underground pubs he frequented nowadays to be open. 

The walk back to his flat felt like the longest and most shameful of his life. The streets were near empty but to him all of the world was watching his heart silently bleed. You knew he’d never love you, don’t act like this. He doesn’t even like men, idiot. He sped up a little, beginning to feel the familiar burn behind his eyes and in his throat. He nearly broke into a run when his block came into view. 

He ran up the rickety stairs to his 3rd floor flat, the lock on his door still a tad sticky from disuse as he had only recently moved in. The heartsick man couldn’t stand living in his old flat, shared by his bandmates after John moved out to live with his girlfriend. When the door finally creaked open he slammed and locked it closed and sank to the floor. He took in deep breaths in an attempt to lower the probability of him breaking down, but failed promptly as he let out the first sob. The fairly new sensation of petals rushing up his throat caused him to run to the kitchen trash bin and he proceeded to sputter and cough up the wet blossoms as fat tears trickled aimlessly down his face.

Pathetic bastard.

When his nausea finally ceased, only his tears continued. Feeling too defeated to get up, he lay on the floor, panting and gripping the bag of the bin as if it was the only solid thing in existence. He couldn’t stay here, he knew he would only think about the thing he did not want to think about.

He remained there for countless minutes, or about a half hour.  
Wake me up. Please wake me up. He pleaded to nobody in particular. Make it not real. He sighed and stood up, dizziness blurring his vision while he trudged to hang his jacket and sit in a proper chair. You know how he looks at her. You know how he talks about her. Stop being a fucking invertebrate and accept that he’s never going to love you, stop reacting like this when you knew it was happening eventually. 

The next few hours went by unnoticed as he completed mundane tasks thoughtlessly in a futile attempt to distract himself. 

Later that night he cleaned and prettied himself up to head to his latest unhelpful coping mechanism: the gay bar. He batted his eyes and smiled at himself in the mirror,; the look was unconvincing to him but anybody else would take it.

Walking in the dark was much easier than doing so in the afternoon dimming sunlight, the darkness cloaking his shame. He knew this route well at this point. As soon as he walked through the doors he made his intentions clear, but not before getting himself drunk enough to not care about looks or discomfort.

Soon he found himself on the thigh of a repressed businessman at least 10 years his senior, laughing at a mediocre joke about god knows what. He gathered quite the crowd, good that he chose to come on a Friday. When the man whose thigh he was using as a perch’s hand crept towards his inner thigh he encouraged them all to take him to the back room. He didn’t count how many fled into the back to get their share of the youthful blond. He felt his clothes being pulled at, and soon enough was on his knees with a stranger down his throat. 

John would be so disgusted with you, they all would, a sober thought ran through his head but quickly ignored it to focus on pleasuring the circle of men surrounding him; his hands working tirelessly on stroking the two men closest to him. Soon after he felt a squirt of liquid land on his bare shoulder he was lifted to his feet and led to a table in the corner of the room, bent over and waiting. This wasn’t his first time being fucked, but the first time with so many people at once. He didn’t care, he let himself be fucked by countless faceless men, his intoxicated mind imagining every cock was John’s, probably even screaming that name when he came. 

Anything to stop himself from thinking about that again.

As the final man withdrew, he was helped up by who Roger assumed was the youngest man in the room; looking around Roger’s age. The man smiled at him and gathered the fucked out blond’s clothes for him. Roger thanked him, and just as he did so, without warning came the second wave of floral nausea of the day. Through wheezes and gasps he vehemently apologized. “God! Fuck, I’m-” He was cut off.

“No, no it’s alright” He bent down to Roger’s level to comfort him. Roger had been dealing with these fits for a few weeks now, he had not yet had two in a single day. “I’ve had it, I don’t mind, it’s alright, get it all out” the kind man told him as his nausea slowly ceased. “Ok, alright, you’re ok.” the man said in a thick Yorkshire accent.

“Thank you, today’s the first time it’s happened twice!” Roger laughed as a mask for his increasing despair. He dressed quickly. Noticing the somewhat awkward silence, he broke it. “So, haha, what br- uh, how’re you?” he buttoned his shirt and tucked it back into his silky pants, blinking away the tears created by his fit of nausea. 

“I’m fine, I was just heading out and I saw you, wanna make sure you’re alright, yeah? How about yourself?”

“Fantastic! Lovely time today.” The act was transparent, his sarcasm only increased by his intoxication. The taller, stronger shorter-haired man helped him up. “I wanna go home,” Roger’s tone changed dramatically from his previous comment. 

“Do you live close by?”

“Yeah, 10 minutes or so,” Roger replied as he began to dress himself. 

“Could I have the honour of walking you home? The streets here aren’t safe at night, especially if somebody sees you walking outta here.” Roger smiled at the offer.

“Sure, you aren’t getting off with me again tonight though, I’m tired,” the half dressed man laughed. “What’s your name, by the way? Mine’s Roy,.” he asked, knowing people rarely shared their real names at these types of places. 

“I’m John.” Of fucking course you are. A familiar sharp pain flashed through his chest at the reminder of that. He quickly rid his head of thoughts of the events earlier that day. He quickly finished tucking in his shirt and smiled at Different John. 

They spent the walk to Roger’s with friendly small talk. At his door Different John gave his phone number and an almost domineering way. They exchanged friendly goodbyes and Different John departed.

With the door once more closed and the view of the small but somewhat lavishly furnished flat in his eyes, his thoughts went right back to the person who took him away earlier.

He hadn’t eaten today.

That’s a distraction.

He started to worry about the continued floral nausea. How long until it got so bad he had to either tell John or get some kind of medication or surgery? Would he be ok living like this for too much longer? He soon gave up on repressing these thoughts as they flooded his head. 

He’d never loved anyone the way he loved John, and Roger was sure of that.

His first crush was on Melody in 2nd year. She had a pretty name, wore pretty pins and was nice to Roger. This was of course a very surface level emotional connection, but he wondered where she was now sometimes.

His first male crush was on Charles in 8th year. At first he thought he just really wanted to be friends with him, Charles was considered a popular kid, and his older brother played guitar. His hair was a little longer than most boys, Roger found that endearing. When he realized how he really felt about Charles he immidietly launched into gay panic. 

Nowadays Roger was much more accepting of himself and his affection for other men, but the thought of friends and family knowing terrified him.

Roger did love his past partners of course, but John was different. Very different.

John made him happy the second he walked into a room.

Getting to hear John talk felt like a gift.

Roger always looked forward to seeing him, no matter what the circumstance.

John made Roger feel heavenly with his mere presence.

Now he didn’t think he’d be able to face him. All he’d be able to think of is how happy he is in a relationship that doesn’t involve him. It was selfish and stupid, but Roger felt jealous of anyone who was around John. He was afraid of how possessive he was. 

Roger spent so much of his time thinking about him and John didn’t even know it.

One time John complimented a silk shirt he had;, now he had 5 silk shirts. Once John passively mentioned how he thought little ornate details in jewelry were cool,; now Roger would look out for those. Roger wondered if all this was creepy, but it was really a subconscious thing. 

It was Friday today, good thing he had no plans aside from working his second job as a file clerk at the library on Saturday; the job was boring and he didn’t care for it but it paid well and he got to play whatever music he liked in the basement while he was alone all day. 

Soon forgetting about his negligence to eat all day, he took a shower and went to bed, hoping to be dreaming a world his adoration was reciprocated.


	2. marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding comes, Roger couldn't be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ACTUALLY OVER SIX MONTHS TO UPDATE AAAA
> 
> i had a while i felt rather . about writing, ngl mostly cause of school lmao. but i have finally FINALLY regained my love for writing this month. i wrote most of this chapter back in april/may, and this is unbeta'd and i mostly skimmed over some parts so it could be a little off but honestly i kind of like it. i hope this lives up to your hopes for the next chapter :-)
> 
> i honestly really hate the first chapter now, but i cant and dont wanna change it now so HAHAHA gn

The wedding came quick. It had been 4 months since that day in the studio, over those four months Roger only noticed more and more how happy John’s relationship made him and the worse his sickness got. Roger absolutely adored seeing how he was when he spoke of her, he loved how he seemed to be floating with pure joy; after all, the only thing he really wanted in regards to John was for him to be happy, but that didn’t stop the undying love that literally made him physically sick everyday. 

The sickness did not bother him as much as of late, thanks to starting a medication back five weeks ago. Unfortunately his affection did not die down like the sickness.

He knew his friends for long enough to know how to act normal around them and keep up the facade that he was fine, and now knew the exact feeling that would happen just a while before he would have another nausea fit, so found discreet ways to excuse himself in those times. During that time he also managed to write a few songs, one which the others actually liked and wanted on the album, so that was positive.

He had also regularly called Different John, for hookups and to act as the others emotional rock; as they both had a similar struggle with love and sickness. Of course having somebody to physically hold on particularly bad days only a call away was always good.

Different John was no John, and Roger was no replacement for who he loved, but they worked.

John was spending more and more time with his fiancee. Freddie and Brian were now also in relationships, stable ones too. 

It felt as though he was lagging behind in some way, like he was going to be forgotten.

Needless to say he was happy they all had somebody they loved to come home to.

He missed living with the other three. Coming home to an empty house everyday was nearing unbearable. He often pondered getting a cat.

The yearning for things to go back to the past only grew in recent weeks, missing near everything about it; Especially being able to discreetly look at John domestically. He could almost pretend they had something, rather juvenile of him he knew, but it gave him satisfaction.

John being groggy in the morning with his half-lidded eyes.

John giving him that little smile when he sat down beside him.

How he looked fresh out the shower.

Being guaranteed to see him everyday, talk to him everyday.

He missed being around them all, even though he still saw them nearly daily. It felt like he was being increasingly isolated, even though he knew that wasn’t true.

He pretended he was seeing somebody in an attempt to not feel as left out in the few times he was asked or the subject came up.

Now it was the night before the wedding, well early morning now. Roger had laid out a tan suit with his favourite fancy platforms and brooches, which he was now staring at. 

You are the first to take my hand after the kiss, I pull in for another. You laugh at my eagerness, but he feels it too. I take your hand, the feeling of the thick band sparking joy into my soul knowing I’m the reason it’s there. Hand in hand we step down from the altar as all our friends and families cheer. A little later we do our first dance, at the table I hide my face in your shoulder from embarrassment as Brian drunkenly recalls an evening escapade from a few months back, your hand resting on my thigh as the night goes on. When we get back home we make passionate love and I fall asleep with my head on your shoulder and our bodies entangled.

He falls asleep with the fantasy playing over and over in his head, clutching his pillow in a pathetic attempt to simulate human warmth.

{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}

Roger woke up an hour before his alarm. He got up quickly, not wanting more time alone with his thoughts and took a shower.

Even though for over a year now he knew he had no chance with him, it still hurt. Every second felt closer to some kind of distorted pain he couldn’t describe. Can I even keep composure there? God, I’m gonna fuck it up for everyone. He thought as he took the pills he had been given to try to stop the flowers from growing, he’d been taking them for about a month now and cut down how often they bothered him by a decent margin. Before he started taking them it was getting to be painful everyday, the last straw that got him to go to a doctor for medication was when he almost choked in a venue bathroom right after a show. 

The wedding was at 5pm, now it was 7 in the morning. Nearly 10 hours to think. Amazing. 

10 hours of nothing but lamenting over what felt like the end of something that never was.

Least he could do was look nice and act happy.

For the next few hours he found ways to keep himself busy. Actually organize the tiny bathroom, dust, things he normally ignored.

8:58

10:32

12:09

2:33

4:11

Roger returned to his room and got dressed in the clothes he had laid out the previous day. The venue was only about a half hour away by car, and Brian was picking him up soon.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, he told himself pacing his tiny hallway.

A knock at the door. Roger checked himself in the mirror one last time, grabbed his wallet and greeted Brian with a flash of a grin. Soon enough he was in the back of Brian’s car with Freddie in the passenger's seat. Freddie was talking a mile a minute about the wedding, he’d helped plan it, so he had a reason to not speak. 

Every passing street sign felt like the death of another fantasy, John moving further and further from him.

“Roger? Roger!” Freddie reached back and shook his leg to get his attention. “We’re here and you haven’t moved the whole trip,” he laughed. Roger repaid the expression of amusement, seeing Freddie smiling like that softened him. 

“Sorry, I was thinking,” he swiftly left the car to avoid any following questions. 

Stepping into the church he felt numb. His only goal for today was to avoid the bride and groom as much as he could without coming off as it being purposeful. 

I can’t face him, I can’t look at him, I can’t ruin his day I can’t. What am I gonna do if he talks to me? He probably isn’t even gonna notice I’m here. I hope he likes my outfit. He better like my outfit. 

In his life, he’d only attended two weddings, one of his aunt in 1959, the only part remaining in his memory being falling into a poison ivy bush after being chased by older children onto a slope; the other being his college friend Syd, which was an overall alright experience. Those however, were comparable to this, as in the previous ones it wasn’t somebody he adored more than anything else getting married.

In short, he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to do.

He scanned the room, there weren't too many people there, but also not a small amount; quickly deciding to follow Freddie and Brian. John was still nowhere to be seen. 

Time slipped by in superfluous conversation. By that point his mind had inadvertently switched into autopilot.

A woman who looked like somebody’s mom ushered everybody to a seat. He was between Freddie and John’s friend from college, Jamie, who was right at the aisle. 

Then John came. He hopped onto the altar and his hair did the bouncy thing, must be soft, he wore a somewhat normal looking wedding black suit with a fancy collar. Despite his outfit being rather typical, he looked good. Thank fuck nobody was going to catch him staring. 

John looked over his shoulder and smiled at him. He probably did that to everyone there but it still lit a spark of joy in his depraved heart. He smiled back.

He must’ve been really lost in thought, because he blinked and John’s almost wife was beside him at the altar. They looked overwhelmingly happy. They both had that look of trying not to smile, and looking at each other as if it was the only thing they wanted to look at for the rest of their lives. 

He tuned out the minister to enjoy his rather nice view of John. Roger attempted to carve the image of John’s ecstatic face into his mind, adding it to his bank of John fantasies he mentally stashed away for lonely nights.

That should be me up there. I should be the one getting to spend the rest of my life with him. Fucker. Shut up, he loves her and it’s his day. He deserves this. So does she.

The newly wed couple embraced, their shared joy evident in their body language and faces. He wanted to leave, it seemed childish to him to just run away from this which only increased the shame in his soul. If you keep thinking like this you’re going to cause something. Say I’m sick and walk home or something. I’ve got my wallet, I can call Other John and we can go to the bar or something. Or just go to bed. I don’t fucking know what to do anymore.

The rest of the day was a blur to Roger. He had escaped the after-party with the excuse of feeling sick, luckily his friends believed him. He felt exponentially pathetic for placing his entire emotional investment into the affection of his undeniably heterosexual friend.

Brian offered to drop him off at his flat, but Roger declined. He figured he would either walk home or hitchhike to his general area. Walk off the mixture of shame and anger brewing inside him since this morning.

{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}•{•}

Hours later, walking into the door of his now dark flat, he cried. Luckily, he didn’t feel like he was going to cough up anything, thanks to his medication.

Undoing his fancy clothes to put back on the protective hanger, he collapsed on the couch and tried to regulate his breathing; which was uneven between the fact that he had been walking for multiple hours and the undying distress over John.

After what felt like hours of giving himself pep talks to get up, he made himself a cheap pasta dinner, showered and went to bed earlier than he had since he was a child; falling asleep holding the extra pillow he used exclusively to hug at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i dont post the finale in a month bully me fr. i hope u liked it lol


	3. ch.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> underwhelming finale, because I cannot stand living knowing this is unfinished. in roachy fashion, not thoroughly read over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this whole fic kinda sucks lol. this is the second serious fanfiction i ever posted, and what got me into writing for the queen fandom which is nice. ive been working on it for so long i remember vividly thinking about it during gym class in school in march 2020.... ah.... i hope this is. somewhat good to you i am so sorry for hte people who have been waiting since fucking april for this to be finished lol.
> 
> thank you especially to yall who came when i first posted this and made u wait until october lol. thanks for reading my very first queen fic :)

_ I’m in love with you so much it’s killing me _

The bottle was almost empty. He’d run out of meds in the middle of a tour. He couldn’t get any more until next month. It was getting bad to the point of considering surgery for it, the fear of death rising every time he coughed up a petal; the flower which he had identified as a rose, John’s favourite flower. Stems of it hadn’t formed yet, the anxiety of the inevitable constant pain of thorny stems in his lungs weighing him down often.

He was  _ fucked.  _ Even on the meds it was still happening a couple times a week, without them?  _ Fucked.  _ The meds were also meant to slow or stop the further growth of stems, which only made the thorn-anxiety worse.

He had these on prescription from a specific store, most others didn’t sell the kind he had, so no going by any drugstores to get more.

Right now, in a hotel room shared with the other three, he felt the early signs of an episode. He stood from the desk he was writing at and went to the bathroom, John still lightly sleeping in the late morning light.

He quietly shut the bathroom door,  _ no lock _ , he fell to the floor to crouch over the trash bin.  _ Third fucking time today, they’re gonna notice. They’re gonna notice, oh fuck. _

It started again, the same sensation of solid plants ejecting from his chest he would never come accustomed to. He wiped his face and straightened his posture when it ceased.

Before he was able to flush the greenery away, the door creaked open.

“You okay, mate?” John’s voice echoed through the small room. Roger, in shock and having just thrown up, only made a pathetic whimper-sounding noise. 

“Is this a joke?” John asked. Roger tried to explain it away but the tears falling, redness surrounding his eyes and shortness of breath refused. He shook his head. “It’s not?” John added, a veil of skepticism covering his face and words. Roger didn’t need to answer for John to know. 

“Who’s it for then- I mean, are you alright?”

Roger tried to talk, but only coughed out a dry blue petal. 

“Shit, are you- does it hurt?” he sat down beside Roger and placed his hand on Roger’s shoulder.

“A little, yeah” he croaked. 

“Is she pretty?” John asked, trying to lighten up the situation.  _ John always knew how to make him happy.  _

“Maybe.”

“What’s her name?”

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Oh, so she’s a ghost who can’t speak? That ought to be fun.” John laughed, before his expression turned serious. “Really though, I don’t think it’s good for you to be having these episodes so often. However you cure it, you should probably get on that, I probably don’t have to tell you that”

“You have to confess it or the feeling has to fade away.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to confess to her than, any girl would be blind to not fall in love with you.”

“Aw, are you saying I’m pretty?” Roger put his hands under his chin in the stereotypical cute pose.

“Ymmhmm, when are you gonna tell her?” John smiled back, before Roger’s fell. 

“I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin things between us…”

“Well you choking to death on a stem would probably ruin more for you. Please do something about it, Rog, I don’t want to find you on the floor one day dead from something you can fix like that.”

“I don’t know, it’s just-”

“When has Roger Taylor ever been shy?” he teased. 

“It’s different thi-”

“Rog.”

“It’s you, John, it’s you” Roger admitted, the slowly bubbling-up frustration and embarrassment boiled over and resulted in his long-awaited confession.

John stared blankly. Neither man moved for a few moments. “I’m sorry, I’m not bent that way. And I’m married.” He said, giving Roger a clinical pat on the back, standing up, turning around and leaving, closing the door behind him. 

Roger never thought being told something he already knew would hurt so much.

**Author's Note:**

> mgckfufl hi comrades
> 
> roger's intrusive thoughts are kinda based off mine so sorry if it's odd or unrealistic to read apsiudfhpharg.
> 
> i hope y'all like it !!!!!!! this is the second fic ive ever posted so uh. its shit bruh imm sorry aerpigerpgaepr
> 
> this is the first fic i've written since july of 2019, and my first in the queen fandom, so iaudhgpirugeg. i hope to be writing more !!!! i've started more so you'll probably see my username more soon


End file.
